


Dear Heart, Dead Heart

by sovery



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-13
Updated: 2014-08-13
Packaged: 2018-02-13 00:36:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2130438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sovery/pseuds/sovery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Abraxas had no idea who the woman by Tom’s side was. BS/TR.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dear Heart, Dead Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I claim no rights to Buffy the Vampire Slayer or the Harry Potter books and movies. 
> 
> Rating: F15 for possible allusions to sex and general unhealthy relationship stuff. 
> 
> Author’s Note: I wrote this a while ago and recently polished it up. Despite that, Tom is OOC because since he was conceived under the influence of a love potion, he can never love according to JK (though I would hesitate to refer to this relationship as love).
> 
> This is a crosspost from Twisting the Hellmouth

It had been unexpected to say the least. None of them had any idea what Tom had been up to when he’d left the country after graduation, but he had promised he would be back.

Abraxas had believed him. It was Tom after all, and he had learnt to never underestimate the other man. Underestimating Tom was something he had done for their first few years at Hogwarts. It had been a mistake. A mistake that, once made, would not be repeated by anyone with good sense.

Abraxas had never been an idiot.

This though, this was entirely unexpected. Tom had never been particularly interested in girls. He wasn’t a- no, but he had never been interested in the fairer sex as far as Abraxas had been able to tell. And once he had become the undisputed king of Slytherin, maybe even before that, Tom had plenty of chances.

So to see him return after a two year’s absence with a woman at his side had been a surprise. He had given his followers absolutely no explanation, and had not bothered to introduce her to anyone as far as Abraxas and the rest knew.

She was petite and blonde, pretty he supposed. The woman, and he thought she was a woman, no matter that her skin was smooth and unlined, had green eyes, delicate features, and a slim, elegant figure draped in pale colored robes. She was sitting with her legs carelessly tucked under in an armchair in the manor that Tom, or Voldemort as he was styling himself these days, had recently moved into.

“You understand?” Tom was asking him. Abraxas nodded blankly.

This was something he really needed to pay better attention to. Rather than wage an outright war, Tom preferred subtly take over the ministry, oust the mudblood-loving fools, and curtail all of the ridiculous regulatory nonsense that the half-bloods and their allies has pushed through. The old families would have their rightful place, and Dumbledore would be gone. Order and tradition would be restored.

But who was the woman?

Tom nodded to Abraxas and Augustus Nott, who had accompanied him to the meeting, indicating they were dismissed for the time being. As they left the room, Abraxas glanced back and saw Tom place his hands on the arm of the woman’s chair and lean over her. His dark hair fell over the side of his face, covering a hollow check and his eyes. Her head didn’t move but her eyes glanced softly in his direction.

“Who is she?” he asked Nott as they left for his own home.

“I don’t know,” the other man admitted in uncharacteristically soft tones.

“None of us have asked him,” pointed out Abraxas.

“Why does she sit in on his meetings?” Nott wondered. “She never says anything.”

“She can’t be English. We’d know who she was then.”

“No.”

“American?”

“Perhaps.”

 

 

Back in the room the two men had recently vacated, two people sat squished together in an armchair.

“Have you heard of personal space?” the woman asked delicately, her accent betraying that she was indeed American.

“You could always sit on my lap,” the man suggested, blue eyes flashing.

“I was here first,” she said.

“It’s my chair,” he retorted.

She turned her head and leaned back to look at him properly. His cold, handsome features were twisted in a politely bored mask. She made to stand up but he seized her waist and pulled her back down onto his lap and wrapped his arms around her waist casually.

“I disgust you,” he said, his voice bland, body tense.

“I don’t care,” she replied, referring to some other topic.

“No,” he said. “You actually care about that filth.” His voice was thoughtful, but she knew he was angry.

“I really don’t care about anything,” she said, turning her head to the side. Tom tucked it under his chin.

“Don’t lie to me Buffy,” he said. He trailed a hand down the line of her jaw.

“Don’t ever lie to me,” he repeated.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” she said quietly. He stilled.

“Don’t tell you what to do?” he asked softly. “What have I been doing for nearly a year, darling?”

She was still.

“You were a wreck, you _are_ a wreck, a broken little mess destroyed by the people you thought you could trust who decided you were just a little too powerful, just a little to inhuman for them. They failed in their little spell, sent you to the wrong dimension, but instead of going after them you just _gave up_. When I found you,” he hissed, “you weren’t even bothering to look after yourself.”

“I tell _everyone_ what to do, generally because I’m better than they are. I tell _you_ what to do because _you need me to._ ”

“I don’t need you,” Buffy said, voice more emotional than it had been since he’d forced his way into her mind and discovered the bloodstained girl in inappropriate clothing was in fact a refugee from another dimension.

Since then she’d been generally apathetic, learning what he could be bothered to teach her, going wherever he decided to take her, and caring for little aside from what he could make her feel.

Because Tom did make her feel. Worse, she made him feel. Buffy had been there before. It didn’t end well, lack of vampirism or not. But she still, stayed with Tom.

“You need me,” he vowed.

“Not to tell me what to do,” she said. She felt him still beneath her. He laughed abruptly, apropos of nothing.

“I want to marry you,” he said. She blinked at the abrupt change of subject.

“What?”

“I want to marry you,” he repeated.

“Why?” she asked. Why bother when she already shared his bed and kept his secrets and had absolutely no purpose to further his plans.

“Well, then this could be your chair too,” he said casually.

“Why bother?” she asked.

“I had a lot of plans before I met you, my dear. I still have them, though they’ve been modified. I’ve already explained to you exactly what I want from this world,” he continued.

“To rule it,” she interrupted.

“More or less, and just England to start,” he continued calmly. “But I need someone at my side.”

“No you don’t” Buffy disagreed.

“Well, no, I don’t _need_ someone,” he said. “But if you’re actually going to be bothered looking after yourself, the least you can do is play lady of the mansion and come to a few dinner parties with me.”

“My mother was a trophy wife,” she said, tone bland.

“A what?” he asked. She had the ability to jump from one topic to another faster than anyone he’d ever met.

“I’m not even sure the term has been invented yet,” Buffy said with a careless little shrug. “My parents got divorced and then she opened an art gallery.”

Buffy never talked about her parents. Which was strange because she was the only one who knew about Tom’s.

Tom really didn’t know what she meant.

“We don’t divorce in the wizarding world,” he told her, trying to stay on topic.

“I don’t care,” she said, suddenly tired.

“Fine,” he said, tone indicating that though they were done talking tonight, the matter was by no means settled.

“Fine,” she mimicked.

“It’s late,” he said. “Go to bed.”

“Come with me,” she replied, standing up, but not turning around to face him.

“Where’s your wand, Buffy?” he asked.

“In the blue room,” she replied.

“Get it, and keep it with you at all times, please,” he said. “If you’re going to be a controversial politician’s wife-”

“I think there are other terms that would better fit you,” she replied, voice slightly scathing.

“It would be better to be careful, dear. You’re a decent witch when you can be bothered to use your magic.”

They walked up the stairs together.

“I’m still the Slayer,” she pointed out.

“Buffy- no you’re not,” he said.

“I’m-”

“You’re a displaced traveler, a talented young witch, and the fiancée of a reformer. What you were before doesn’t matter.”

Buffy considered the betrayals and the fighting and the blood that had led her here. How after years of trying to save the day and do the right thing she had been stabbed in the back by both the Powers and her friends. And how the cold and careless Tom Riddle had shown her a world where she had no responsibilities and where no one would ever demand anything from her.

“I guess it doesn’t” she replied.

 

 

The next time Abraxas met with Tom it was just the two of them. He was reporting on progress made in the Wizengamot and on Dumbledore’s political capital. Not many were willing to openly oppose the man who had defeated the Dark Lord Grindelwald.

“My Lord,” he asked hesitantly.

Tom glanced at him, lips curling with amusement.

“Who was the woman who was at the last meeting?” he asked.

Tom looked off into the distance for a moment.

“She’s the unfortunate victim of an ancient spell gone tragically wrong. I’ve… helped her adjust to this new world of ours.”

Seeing the confusion in Abraxas’ eyes he added, “Her name is Buffy.”


End file.
